


The Death of God

by OTPAlchemist99



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Bottoming, Hannibal has powers, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal is a serial killer, Hannibal is a tad like Kilgrave, Hannibal is obsessed with Will, Humiliation, Identity Issues, M/M, Not Beta Read, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Kink, Will has Powers, read the tags people!!!, these tags are in no particular order people, will is sassy AF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12905688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPAlchemist99/pseuds/OTPAlchemist99
Summary: "Where has God gone?" he(the Madman) cried. "I shall tell you. We have killed him - you and I. We are his murderers." -Friedrich Nietzchie, The Parable of the MadmanWill is far from a hero. He might have powers but that doesn't mean he fights crime at night or helps old ladies cross the street. Pretty far from it actually, preferring to stay home at all cost except for the one night a week he has to see his psychiatrist. Will's life gets a whole lot worse though when his psychiatrist, Doctor Hannibal Lector turns out to be a serial killer. Knowing who Hannibal is and what he's capable of, Will aims to stop him. But when Will's piss poor plan goes wrong, he is trapped as Hannibal's house guest.or...a story where Hannibal has mind control powers and Will is sassy as fuck.





	1. Chapter 1

Will steps out of his car and pulls his wool coat close, trying to shield himself from the balmy Baltimore night. He walks towards the front door with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, fingers grazing the cool metal. The metal of the gun he’s going to use to kill his therapist.

The thought alone causes a half-crazed wave of nerves to bubble up in Will making a short, clipped laugh fall out. He _feels_ crazy, though he usually does so it’s nothing new really. This, oddly enough, is probably the sanest thing he’s ever done though. Because Will’s knows that his therapist, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, has the ability to control people.

Okay, so he does sound crazy...

But it doesn't make it any less real or true. Will doesn’t remember the exact moment he knew Doctor Lecter had these powers; it really was an accumulation of moments. Mostly small things like being commanded to talk about topics Will didn’t want to speak on, or divulge dark thoughts he refused to even admit to himself. Will would feel the influence of Hannibal’s commands seep through his skull and into the synapses of his neurons; the infliction of those words overriding everything else. Even with his whole being rebelling against the demand Will would find the words spilling out anyway.

The first time it had happened Will chalked it up to the therapeutic environment making his lips loose. The second and third time however…. Well, Will was hardly an open book, but Hannibal was somehow able to crack open his mind like a ripe watermelon, and with commands alone. That in itself should have been enough to have him running through the Baltimore streets screaming, but after each meeting Hannibal would simply tell Will ‘you had a wonderful time at your therapy session and noticed nothing unusual’ before herding him out to door. And somehow Hannibal’s words slipped into his mind and made it so, pushing thoughts that contradicted the command to the dark corners of his mind. Any attempt to try and pull those thoughts forward felt like trying to remember something on the tip of your tongue, more of a vague impression than anything tangible. Will _should_ think himself crazy for believing that Dr. Lector has the power to control people, it being more likely he is just as insane as society believes him to be. That would be the case too, if Will didn’t have powers of his own.

Hannibal was lucky, his gifts were more useful by a long shot even if it was more corrupting. Being a manipulative dick hole wasn’t enough for Will to kill him though. Hannibal being a morally corrupt psychologist isn’t all that uncommon and definitely not enough to make Will want to shoot him. The real reason being was what he _saw_ when he shook Doctor Lector’s hand after their last therapy session.

 And what Will saw was a killer.

Knocking on the front door, Will waits with his whole body tense, pulse thrumming in his throat. Part of him wishes he could turn around and walk away; just leave this endeavor behind, get a new psychologist and stick his head in the sand of blissful ignorance. The idea is a soothing one. The thought, however, is soon snatched away when the door opens spilling the soft melody of classical music and warm light onto the front porch.

“Good to see you, Will. I’m glad you could join me for dinner.” Hannibal says in greeting. _As is I had a choice_ Will thinks, recalling how Hannibal had called him a couple days earlier telling Will he **_was_** coming to dinner at his house. _Probably will regret that demand once I kill him._ Will thinks bitterly.

“What can I say; I _couldn’t_ miss it for the world.” Will says brazenly, his nerves making him snarky.  Something darts across Hannibal’s face as the words but is gone quickly, his welcoming smile still in place.

“Please, come in.” Hannibal says with a gesture, opening the door wide. Will walks in, gripping the handle of the gun in his pocket as waves of anxiety cause his whole body to feel like jello. He’s almost afraid he’s going to trip right in the foyer and the gun will come tumbling out of his pocket. _Lamest way to die ever._ Will thinks imagining himself falling over like a new born fawn as he walking into the foyer.

“Hang your coat on the hanger.” Hannibal says. The command almost seems nonchalant but the strength of their effect it immediate, making Will’s tense body twitch at the need to respond. _This is the only chance I have,_ Will thinks as he starts to slide the coat off his shoulders. As he pulls his arm out, the gun comes with it and in a fluid, if a little shaky, motion Will brings it up and… “Drop the gun William. _Now._ ”

The command vibrates through Will and, in mid-motion, the gun clatters to the ground. Will's arm follows the upward momentum however leaving him standing empty handed with his arm sticking straight out at Hannibal. A small smirk crosses Hannibal’s face at his empty hand, just as realization dawns on Will. The urge to say 'freeze partner' in a cheesy southern accent flutters across Will's brain despite the panic. With the first command still in effect, Will toss the coat at the rack and tries to dive for his gun on the floor. “Do not shoot me Will and hand me the gun.”

A gasp escapes Will as he stands, gun poised at Hannibal, seconds away from pulling the trigger only to have his hand cramp against the urge. Will’s eyes go wide as he struggles to push the weight of the command off him. His body takes over and Will glares at Hannibal as he walks towards him, his dress shoes dragging against Persian rug in resistance, thoroughly scuffing the fabric. The sight gives Will a small spark of satisfaction.

“I hope this rug is expensive.” Will growls out as he offers the butt of the gun to Hannibal.

“It is. About five thousand.” Hannibal says, looking down at the ruined rug as if someone just kicked his puppy. It almost makes Will smile; glad he’s able to do something, even if it’s small, to piss Hannibal off. Will already knows begging doesn’t work on Hannibal. All begging does is annoy him so much Hannibal usually tells the person to cut off their own tongue, something Will is set on avoiding. So at the moment, the best bet Will has is to piss Hannibal off enough that he kills him quickly.

“Good. Fuck you.” Wills says and in a flash the barrel of the pistol is on his forehead.

“Do not move and tell me why you were going to kill me.” Hannibal says sternly.

“As if you need the gun to make me talk…” Will says. A groan escapes him as he tries to hold back the truth, his breathe coming in pants at the strain. The words makes Hannibal freeze and lower the gun.

“I’m impressed that you’re able to resist my influence.” Hannibal says making Will scoff at the fucked up complement. “You have to tell me how you do it.”

Will grinds his teeth to keep his words in, only letting a short ‘cuz you’re a killer’ and ‘I don’t know’ slip out past his locked jaw. Hannibal simple nods at the answers making Will thinks he’s going to accept the simple truths and chalk his ability to resist up to sheer will-power. Silently he hopes that Hannibal will get this whole charade over with and kill him already.

Hannibal tilts his heading, looking Will over. “Tell me then why you _think_ you are able to resist my control?”

Will groan and clenches his jaw while his lips purse shut in a feeble attempt, the strain causes his breathing to come frantically in and out through his nose. The exertion is for nothing though, as his jaw unlocks with a click and his body betrays him to follow the order.

“I think it’s because I have powers as well.” Will bites out, holding back an elaboration. He’s unsure why though, knowing Hannibal can easily demand him to explain. His nature just seems to demand that he fight despite the inevitability of being forced. It makes him wonder if his ability to resists Hannibal’s influence isn’t just his power alone but a combination of that and ill-tempered vigor.

Hannibal’s surprise and excitement is evident on his face as Will’s answer. “Tell me what your powers are.” Hannibal asks, looking Will over with a new found interest that makes Will’s skin crawl.

Will does the same song and dance of resisting only to have the words eventually spill out. “When I touch someone an empathic connection forms.” Hannibal smiles at Will’s vague answer and simple says ‘elaborate’. “I can feel the person’s being. I become them in an instant and their mind slips into my body. Once the connection is gone though it fades.”

Will hates his empathic power, the fact that he can touch someone and know how they feel and who they really are, making it much more like a curse than a blessing. Will is only glad he can control it now and doesn’t have to fear touch anymore, though he still avoids it out of habit. Because every once in a while Will did slip up and each time he would slips into the being of another person and he would feel who he is drift away in an instant while that person’s identity became his. It did fade when he broke contact, he didn’t lie about that, but the being of the people he touches never completely leaves either. Even after the contact is broken, Will can still feel pieces of them drifting in his mind, like lost objects out at sea. Hence why he needed a therapist, he was the walking definition of an identity disorder. That, and the fact he was court ordered to.

“What did you see when you touched me?” Hannibal asks, narcissistic fascination seeping through making Will feel like a fucked up human crystal ball.

“A fucking monster.” Will spits out hoping to piss him off but the comment only seems to make Hannibal smile and command again for him to ‘elaborate’.

“You’re a serial killer who uses your powers to evade ever getting caught. And, despite being able to make anyone kill themselves with just a command, you prefer to do it yourself and… prolong their suffering.” Will says, this time not fighting the words that come out on the own volition. His chest rises and falls in short in gasps as Will feels a panic attack over taking him as the words spill out. “You’re a sadist…”

Hannibal smiles at Will’s words and strokes the back of a finger across the stubble on Will’s face. He quickly smacks away the hand making Hannibal chuckle. “I find you immensely entertaining Will so, from now on, you _will not_ leave this house unless granted permission by me.” Hannibal commands, his words silky smooth and, if Will isn’t hyperventilating himself into hallucinating things, laced with even more power. “Now come have dinner with me. The food is getting cold.”


	2. Chapter 2

Will was having possible the most awkward dinner in his life, which is probably to be expected when you are forced to have dinner with a serial killer. Hannibal, in all of his social grace and superb hosting skill, tries to make light conversation and engage Will with his efforts really only being rewarded with disgruntled stares. Will doesn’t even eat the food in front of him for a good ten minutes before Hannibal becomes annoyed and commands him to.

“You know it’s really rude to pout when someone is trying to be a good host.” Hannibal comments as Will stabs aggressively at the food on his plate, metal scraping china.

“I’m not pouting.” Will immediately replies back, possibly a little too quickly before catching himself. Hannibal raises a brow. “Pouting makes me seems like a child upset over something contrite. _I’m_ being held captive by a deranged sadist and being forced to have dinner with him.”

Hannibal smiles and ignores the insult, seeming to only care that he has taken up speaking again. “What would you say you are doing then?”

“Scowling.” Wills replies with a glare before taking an overtly hostile bite of pasta. Hannibal seems to contemplate that for a second before letting it go. Most likely deciding an argument about the finite differences between scowling and pouting being pointless and would only resulting headache. Which is sad, because Will was really looking forward to doing just that.

“I find it interesting that you’re not more afraid.” Hannibal replies, taking a drink of his wine. “Why is that?”

Will struggles to swallow his mouth full of pasta, the starchy noodles gluing themselves to his already too dry mouth. Ignoring the wine he picks up the glass of water instead, deciding alcohol would probably only make it easier for Hannibal to verbally manipulate him. Plus he was _shite_ at holding his liquor.

Will hesitates answering, torn between the proverbial ‘easy way or the hard way’. The hard way would be to just not answer the question or to respond kindly with a ‘go fuck yourself’. Either option leaving Hannibal the choice to either demand that Will tell him or drop the topic. Since sitting down, Hannibal had only used his powers on Will to make him eat; content for the most part to let Will scowl at him from across the table. This question not being a demand however seemed different than the polite small talk from before. Hannibal’s eyes practically glowed with a dangerous glint as if daring him to give the hard way a shot. And... as tempting as the hard way is to him, Will finds himself forfeiting the battle to save energy for the war. Besides, him answering the question wasn’t telling Hannibal much more than he already knew…

The memory of Hannibal’s being seeping into his skin over takes Will until he can feel Hannibal’s drive, his desire, his motive… well, lack of one that is. His heart hammering in his chest, his mind finally dwelling on what he has been trying not to think of. “I know you like to drag the process out… when you kill someone. You like to slowly break them before killing them. You won’t kill me yet, may be in a day or two… when you are done having fun.”

The last sentence comes out barely louder than a whisper, his body slowly deflating as the situation sinks in. Will’s mind slowly connects the knowledge of what Hannibal has done to his past victims and what Hannibal is capable of doing to him, the cold realization making his chest heavy. His growing panic makes him jump when Hannibal interrupts his spiraling thoughts.

“Hmmmm,… All that from a handshake?  Are you able to hear my thoughts as well when you touch me?” Hannibal asks, selfish curiosity lighting his eyes up, though Will also has a feeling the question is meant to distract him from heading into a full blown panic attack. Something he is slightly thankful for no matter how selfish the intentions are. Will doubts Hannibal wants his dinner guest weeping at his table,… well not yet anyways.

“No, I can’t hear people’s thoughts. I have an _empathic_ power, not the ability to read minds.” Will says resume his scowl. “Empathic as in I can feel what the other person’s feeling, though it’s kind of more than that as well. When I touch the person I become them for a moment, almost like their soul slips into my body.”

Hannibal’s eyes darken and lips pull into a devious smile at the new information. “What did it feel like to be me?”

 _Powerful._ The word pulls to the forefront of Will’s mind in an instant just as the memory of what it felt like to be Hannibal fills him. His body and soul feeling as unstoppable and aggrandize as a super nova sun. His skin prickles as he remembers the power there, like a living thing beneath his skin. Quickly, he swats the memory away and mentally shakes the feeling from his body. “It felt disgusting.”

Hannibal’s eyes flash at the words before he quells it and shakes his head with a tsk. “You are a horrid liar, Will. _Don’t lie to me. Ever._ ”

Will feels something deep in his jerk at the command, like a phantom muscle twitching in a painful spasm making Will gasp. “Will you not lie to me as well?” he asks, unsure why he’s pretending to barter with a man who has all the chips when he has none.

The audacity of the request doesn’t seem to bug Hannibal, but instead makes him smile. “I have yet to lie but sure, I will return the favor as well. Now tell me what it felt like to be me.”

Will bites his lip and closes his eyes, brows furrowed to keep the truth and words in. The effort was impossible though, the power of two commands like hammers trying to beat Will’s jaw open. The strain makes tears prick the corner of his eyes before his mouth pops open with a gasp.

“Powerful…” Will says, breathing heavy. “It felt powerful, addictively so.”

“Would you like to feel that way again?” Hannibal asks, leaning forward. Will feels shaky as he answers the question.

“Yes and no.” Will says. Hannibal stares on expectantly; making Will roll his eyes and continue. “For obvious reasons, it felt good.”

“I was more curious about the ‘no’ than the ‘yes’.” Hannibal replies with an eyebrow raised.

Will’s teeth clench as he glares at Hannibal. “Because it’s not real.”

“And illusions of control and power are the cruelest when they aren’t real, especially for a man in your position, since it is destined to evaporate into thin air.” Hannibal clarifies, a smug smile pulling his lips.

“And because it means I would have to touch you again.” Will spits out, pissed enough to try and insight Hannibal. The words seem to have an opposite effect on him though, only making Hannibal smile wider with a malevolent look in his eyes as he resumes his meal. Will long ago forfeited the effort, Hannibal did after all tell him just to eat. He didn’t say how much.

“I want to know what you are going to do to me.” Will says, trying for a detached and professional tone that only ends up coming out cracked.

Hannibal seems to contemplate that for a second, before answering slowly. “You know most people wouldn’t.”

“Not knowing is a feeble attempt at pretending it’s not going to happen.” Will replies. He searches Hannibal’s face, trying to reconcile with himself that the man in front of him is his soon to be killer. That Hannibal’s face,… Hannibal’s voice, will be the last human one his eyes or ears experience. That Hannibal’s hands, the ones gracefully holding the stem of the wine glass, are the ones that will be wielding the knife that end his life. The thought is somber but Will lets it to rest on his shoulders like a cold blanket and allows the finality to seep into his skin, calming his breathe and pulse. It wasn’t ideal knowing how he was going to die, far from it, but there was a sense of power, a sense of control in knowing. Will wonders if Hannibal will let him have even that.

Whether is it for lack of caring to hold the mystery for himself or because he felt the need to grant Will a small mercy Hannibal answers him, voice measured and hesitant tone. “I’ve only half decided what I plan to do with you.”

“Bullshit. You have something planned.” Will says. 

Hannibal chuckles and holds out his hand in response. “If you are so insistent on knowing then why don’t you _feel_ what I plan to do to you.”

Will looks at the out stretched hand like it’s an offensive gesture, pulling back in his chair as if he plans to get up. He almost wants to but Will knows he won’t get far before he is commanded to sit back down. “No. Just tell me.”

“But where would be the fun in that?” Hannibal asks, eyes lighting back up at Will’s resistance. Yeah, definitely a sadist.

“Up. Yours.” Will bites out, leaning towards Hannibal. “You’ll have to make me.”

Hannibal just shrugs. “That’s fine. I am curious to see if I’m able to make you use your powers. It will be interesting experiment.” Uncertain if he wants to find that out as well, Will almost tells Hannibal he has changed his mind when Hannibal continues. “Now touch my hand and use your powers to feel how I feel about you.”

The words almost sound romantic, too bad in this situation those words are five ways fucked from Friday. Will curls his limps into himself as the war starts in his body, trying to remain as unmoving as stone. He knows all it will take is a single movement and the thin layer of control he has will crack. Apart of Will wonders why he’s even trying; the inevitability of it all being more of a waste of energy than anything. But another part of him screeches in protest at the idea, anger and tar demanding he fight till there’s blood and bone.

Will feels his hand twitch as the urge to obey and the urge for violence push against his tightly wound control but instead he just grips his sides tighter. Hannibal patiently watches him, eyes dark roaming as he silently observes Will struggle in his chair. It’s less than a minute, but Will can feel himself start to break out in a sweat at the strain just has his breathe becomes labored. Hannibal seems amused by it but breaks the silence.

“Relax your body Will.” Hannibal commands. And with a frustrated groan Will jumps half way out of his seat to grab Hannibal’s hand in a crushing grip. Hopefully it fucking hurts.

That’s the last ‘Will’ thought he has though before Hannibal slips into his skin, the cool demeanor of the serial killer’s replacing Will’s angry and frantic thoughts. And despite being reluctant to, Will has to admit the feeling of control the sweeps over him is nice. Most people’s emotions are either so rapid they make Will motion sick once he pulls away, or too intense leaving them the phantom emotions itching under his skin for hours after he has touched them. Hannibal emotions however are the perfect balance of leveled intensity and tempo. Will finds himself relaxing, Hannibal’s emotions shifting slowly across his mind.

A small amount of surprise is the first thing Will feels at contact, vibrant and orange before it gives way to the contentment, a mild shade of yellow. He is pleased at the following of an order, but being pleased transforms slightly to enjoyment at physical contact. The dusty pink doesn’t last long though as it deepens, seeping around the edges and turning dark red. Dark red shoots right through Will making him gasp and he feels his cock harden. Maroon touched with black swirls through Will as dark malicious urges bubble up through it like hot tar.

In an instant Will is back in his own body, panting and sweating as he looks into the dark maroon eyes of the man across from him. Lust and death still touching Will’s frayed psyche as he slumps back in the chair, physically and mentally spent. The red irises evaluating him are the only think that pierce through the dimming world around him as Will passes out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, this is where the story really earns its non-con tag. Not that anything previously was consensual... but you know what I mean. Fair warning, turn back right now if you are not good with explicit details of rape.  
> Cuz yeah, there is a lot of details.
> 
> that being said, enjoy! :)

Will snaps awake, heart rapid in his chest as maroon orbs follow him into the groggy world of consciousness. Scratch that, they aren’t a figment of some fucked up fever dream Will thinks as his eyes lock on to the very real insidious ones across the room. Will’s rapid pulse is joined by the dropping of his stomach at the image in front of him. God if only this was just a nightmare…

Hannibal sits poised in an armchair in the corner, legs crossed and hands neatly folded in his lap. The fucking creepy poster child (poster serial killer?) for patiently-watching-you -sleep monthly. The fact that Will is on a bed only makes it worse, like it should be romantic that Hannibal was watching over him while he was unconscious. And of course this hedonistic prick has a California king…

For Will the only saving grace to being on a huge ass bed with a sadist killer staring at him is that at least he has his clothes on. Plus it seemed unlikely Hannibal was about to pull out a scalpel and start torturing him, especially on sheets that looked and felt like they costed a fortune. On another upside, because Will was always the optimist, it also didn’t seem like Hannibal did anything to him while he was asleep. Though it’s up in the air whether **that’s** a good or bad thing. 

If anything, the weirdest part was the fact that Will was made comfortable at all. Hannibal could have left him passed out at the kitchen table. Or worse, chained him up naked somewhere so he was ready to be tortured. But no, Hannibal had gone through the trouble of removing his suit jacket and tie to make him comfortable. He even tucked him into bed as if he was a friend who just passed out after a bender.

Hannibal notices Will taking in the state of his undress and gives him a small smile. “Do not worry yourself, Will. I haven’t done anything to you yet.”

“Yeah… that’s far from comforting.” Will snaps, his voice cracking from sleep.

“Thought you wanted to know what I was going to do to you. Was that all false bravado?”

Will scoffs, the sound soft and a tad breathless as his heart rattles in his chest. “Yeah, not the same. If I had a choice I would rather be unconscious or given a quick death.”

“Hardly sounds fun.” Hannibal replies, eyebrows pulled together as if confused by why he would want either of those things. As if Hannibal fails to see how Will being given any mercy would be entertaining at all. The callous disregard of Will as anything other than a play thing… a toy, is like a slap to the face. _Winding me up, watch me go…_

“Fun for you Hannibal.” Will says seething, a simmering rage burning away any trepidation. “Not for me.”

Under Will blazing gaze, Hannibal stands and walks towards him with predatory grace. Will’s anger wavers, anxiety rippling through the storm. He almost regrets snapping at Hannibal… almost. But really, what else was Will able to do? He couldn’t fight, not in the traditional sense anyways. So he ran his mouth.  Because his mouth and his brain where the only thing he could use against Hannibal right now.

Those were also probably the only things keeping him a live as well. Because, while Will had hoped being an asshole would offer him a quick death, it had actually garnered a different reaction. Because unfortunately, Will hadn’t expected Hannibal to have amazing self-control or to delight in their verbal exchange. Most people hated Will’s crass words and horrid social etiquette.

But if anything, Will’s surly attitude seemed to entertain Hannibal. Though it wasn’t hard imagining why; Hannibal was probably happy to just have a victim who he could talk to, no matter how poor their manners were. _Lucky me I guess…_ So yeah, Will’s plan had kind of backfired. But hopefully it would also keep him alive long enough to find an opening to escape. That is, if he had his legs long enough to be able to escape. _Again, always the optimist._

Hannibal takes him time stalking towards Will, and that is truly what it is. Stalking. All measure pace and deliberate steps like a fox cornering a rabbit. Will hates being the rabbit. And it takes more control that he’s will to admit not to crab-walk backwards on the bed away from the approaching form. Exhaustion ends up out weighting common sense.

Hannibal stops a few feet from the bed, barely in reach of it, but his presence still seems to crowd the air around Will. All lean grace and sharp angles. He’s dressed down as well, having removed his suit jacket and tie leaving him in charcoal grey dress pants with a matching vest and a crisp white button up shirt. He’s not much taller than Will’s 5’11 height, maybe standing at 6’1… but the extra inches on top of his stronger build has Will’s breathe coming in pants. Small and crushable. His body sways, dizziness fluttering over his vision.

“Believe me Will. It’s going to be fun for both of us. _Now stand up.”_ Hannibal responds in a voice low like the rolling thunder.

Will’s brows furrow at Hannibal’s looming form before cold realization makes his stomach turn. _Hannibal couldn’t possibly… He doesn’t mean…_ Will’s mind reels at the implication behind the statement. The internal turmoil combined with his exhaustion leaves Will’s body instantly responding to the demand. The room closing in on him as Will starts to shift towards Hannibal.

Chest heaving with his pulse going a mile a minute seems to jog something in Will. A cog fitting into place. Mind racing, Will realizes that Hannibal said to stand but he didn’t say _where._

And just like that, Will feels control slide back into his bones, his muscles. Yeah Will stands, but it’s not where Hannibal had clearly wanted him to, which is on the side of the bed he is standing on. Will instead changes direction and slides off the bed on the opposite side, specifically the farthest possible spot from Hannibal’s position on the other side. _Cuz’ the more distant between us the better_ Will thinks.

Out witting Hannibal’s command has small swirls of victory floating through his distress. Will doubts Hannibal will be pleased by it though. So Will braces himself for anger, expecting violent intent to mar Hannibal’s normally indifferent features.

Instead Hannibal laughs.

It’s hardly a ‘splitting at the seams’ kind of laugh but its more than the usually muffled chuckle Will has heard from Hannibal. The laugh is a pleasant musical baritone, and it alone scares Will more than Hannibal’s calculating gaze and cool smile. It makes Hannibal human. And damn if Will hadn’t forgot Hannibal was an attractive one at that. Being kidnapped will do that to a person.

“Even with all my power and ascendancy, I can still never fully predict you, Will.” Hannibal praises, eyes alight with mirth and hunger. “You are the second person clever enough to realize details in my commands matter. Of course the first to realize is dead. However, while I do enjoy the chase and would love to see what other ways you can use this new knowledge to your advantage, I am rather impatient right now. So let me be more specific. Come stand in front of me Will. _Now_.”

Will mind takes in this new knowledge of Hannibal’s power like a sponge, storing it away to try while mentally vowing get more information later on. This however also makes Will forget the real problem at hand, resulting in his  body lurching forward and walking half way around the bed before he can properly brace himself against the command.

Will tense his muscles to slow his eager pace but finds he only slows for a minute before continuing. Thinking fast, and out of pure desperation, Will grabs onto the wooden frame of the bed. The force of his lower body’s movement and the stationary posture of his upper body gripping the bed almost has Will falling on the floor. He gasps at the strain as his body starts to war with itself again, the exhaustion of it making a faint whimper escape his lips.

Because God was he tired… His whole body ached like he just tried to stop a moving bus. Everything from his muscles to his joints hurt from strain. Shit, he could almost feel the joints of his finger gripping the bed frame creak at the aching pressure there. Even his mind felt drained, fuzzy and unfocused at the effort to control his movement. The whole effort like a heavy weight he can't push off, destined to be slowly crushed by it.

With a groan, Will’s body submits to the influence and in an instant is sandwich between Hannibal and the bed. Which is probably the least ideal spot for Will, but there is only so much shit you can give when your entire body is throbbing in time with your heartbeat. And Will decides to dedicate his last shits to breathing and not falling over.

“Very good.” Hannibal murmurs, tracing a finger down the delicate skin of Will’s temple. Looking up, Will sees a droplet of sweat poised on the tip of Hannibal’s finger before his tongue licks it away. The flick of his tongue makes Will shiver and take an involuntary- okay maybe voluntary- step back. Because God was that creepy…

“Do not move unless I tell you to.” Hannibal immediately amends upon his movement. Will shoots a weak-ass look, meant to be a glare, in Hannibal’s direction. It mostly comes out exasperated.

“What do you want?” Will asks, voice shaky and breathless. He’s barely able to even scowl at Hannibal.

“Hmmm, I want a lot of things from you Will. But for now I’ll settle for you getting undressed.” Hannibal suggests, not directly commanding it. A growl escapes Will before he even consciously realizes he’s making the noise, his glare back to full intensity. Evidently he still has some energy.

“I could just make you Will. But really, you’re too tired to actually resist so why don’t you save the little energy you do have for the pouting you insist on-…”

The punch surprises Will, which is definitely the only logical reason he punches Hannibal square in the jaw when he’s unable to run. It’s hardly a good punch too, his arms feeling more like noodles than appendages. The suddenness of it does snap Hannibal’s face to the side though, smug satisfaction worm its way into Will at the sight. Hardly worth the fury that’s about to rain down on him but probably still better than the alternative; willingly undressing for a psychopath.

And Will expects anger at the very least, if not being struck back tenfold. But when Hannibal looks back at him, Will is surprised not to see anger in the cold depths of his eyes but hunger.

Eyes wide, Will looks away from the lust filled gaze. He would have probably receded back a little too if he could have. He isn’t ready for arousal to color Hannibal’s face but looking down to avoid it becomes worse than Hannibal’s intense stare. His eyes widen as they connect with the straining length in Hannibal’s pants. Glancing away Will clenches his hands, breath short and quick. Fuck, he has to think of something!

“Strip right now William.” Hannibal commands and Will’s hands instantly snap to his shirt collar at the words and start to undo the buttons.

Frantic to buy himself time Will slows his pace, mentally rationalizing with himself that Hannibal had said to strip, which he was doing, but he didn’t give him a time limit. So he lets his eyes roam around the room as he works each shirt button open at an excruciatingly slow rate. So slow that someone with broken fingers probably could have done it faster. But the little time lets him to look around the room, eyes searching as if he expects to find a ‘deus ex machina’ in the corner somewhere. Too bad all he sees is expensive furnishings and tacky décor.

“Look at me Will.”

Will’s eyes are pulled from the dresser he is looking at-thoughts interrupted from wondering if he could somehow use the clock there to bash Hannibal over the head-and is forced to look at the man he wants to kill. Eyes hooded and lust blown stare at Will as he undoes the last button on his shirt, Hannibal’s gaze is hungrily taken in the exposed skin making Will’s stomach flip with renewed panic.

Will can’t help but know this is Hannibal’s intention. He wants Will to be in the moment completely, unable to escape from what he is doing and what is going to be done to him. Will almost pleads with him to stop but clenches his teeth at the thought. That was the last fucking thing he was going to do for this bastard.

Hands finished with the last buttons of his cuffs, Will slides the fabric off his arms all the while hating the way Hannibal’s eyes travel the length of his torso. Once the shirt is in a heap on the floor do Will’s hands come to rest on his belt. With some effort, Will wrenches them from the buckle and instead bends to take off his socks, again going as slow as possible. Above him, Hannibal chuckles at his delay tactic, making Will tempted to throw his smelly socks at Hannibal.

Unable to avoiding the inevitable, Will’s hands go back to his belt and he snaps the clasp open. Hannibal’s eyes dilate further at the gesture as he wets his lips. Thumbing his pants button open, Will hastens his movements now. Unable to find a way out of the situation leaves Will is desperate for it to be over. Pulling down his fly, Will pushes his pants and boxers off in swift movement, kicking them to the side.

Will tenses when Hannibal touches him; his hands running over his chest and arms, marveling as Will’s body with lust filled eyes. Will feels likes he’s choking on Hannibal’s arousal as he travels lower, fingers grazing over his soft cock as he maps out the flesh there. Putting a hand in his pants pocket, Hannibal pulls out a small bottle. Confusion pulls Will’s brows together before cool realization sets in like lead on his chest.

Hannibal flicks open the bottle of lube and pours a small amount on his hand before administrating it to Will’s length. Slowly Hannibal strokes Will, pressure perfect and fluid causing his cock to stir. Will wants to close his eye to block out Hannibal and the sensation. Shit to let his mind think of dead puppies or something. Anything to keep the building heat from gathering at the base of his spine.

Instead Will is forced to look at the attractive monster in front of him. To watch Hannibal stroke his cock until it is hard and Will is breathing labor for reasons _other_ than fear. And god is Hannibal good. A particularly delicious stroke and circling pressure on the head of his cock has Will’s giving a startle cry and canting his hips forward. His legs begin to shake as his pleasure builds.

“You can use me to support yourself Will.” Hannibal murmurs, noticing the wavering in Will’s stance.

“Go… fuck yourself.” Will growls out breathlessly, making Hannibal’s face color in a devious look at the remark. Face practically say, ‘but I’d rather fuck you’.

“Lay on the bed.” Hannibal commands, pausing in his stroking of Will’s hard length for him to obey. Abashedly Will does so with little hesitation, too tired to stop his body from sitting and sliding back on the bed behind him. Hannibal follows Will receding form and boxes his body in with toned arms. “Undo my pants Will, then I want you to take out my cock and give me a hand job. You _will not_ try to hurt me.”

Will’s breath hitches at the demand as he grips the comforter below him. Determined to resist. Hannibal notices and gives a very forceful ‘now’ that results in Will’s finger moving in flurry to undo Hannibal’s belt. Will’s moments only slow when he finally has Hannibal’s pants open. Swallowing past the building anxiety in his throat, Will slides his hand inside the fabric to pulls out Hannibal’s cock and… just stares.

Hannibal had looked big from the strained outline in his dress pants but it did nothing to show off the enormous length Will holds in his hand. Hannibal’s cock is easily ten inches of uncut flesh with a girth that Will isn’t able to fully circle his hand around. Hannibal clears his throat making Will pull his graze upward, meeting eyes alight with smug amusement.

“I’m waiting.” Hannibal prompts, voice husky and thick with his accent. Will’s hand gives and experiment stroke against his own accord, subconsciously mimicking the strokes Hannibal had performed on his own cock. The action has Hannibal giving a low moan in his throat and an unneeded command of ‘keep going’.

Will’s own cock, thankfully, has waned a little in its hardness. But almost as soon as Will notices this, Hannibal brings his hand back down to Will’s length and rectifies that. Hannibal’s eyes are hooded as they continue to stroke each other and Will let’s himself relax into the pleasure building in him. Because fuck it, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Hannibal seems to notice Will submitting to the course of events and gives him a devious smile. Will’s stomach drops at the look in his eyes, noticing the gleam of something in them.

“Spread your legs for me Will.” Hannibal says, pulling away slightly to give Will room while still allowing him to continue the job of jacking him off.

“No.” Will hisses out, even as his legs twitch to obey. Hannibal smile widens as he strokes Will fasters, twisting his wrist on each downward stroke of Will’s cock making him gasps at the sensation. Will’s brain momentarily goes blank and, before he can register his movements, his legs are spread wide on either side of Hannibal’s thighs.

“Hmmm,... beautiful.” Hannibal hums as he looks down as Will spread for him and takes the bottle of lube from his pocket again. Cool moisture drips from Will’s taint to his ass crack as Hannibal pours a generous amount between his legs. His labored breathing jumps into fill panic mode as the sensation, chest heaving and heart racing. There was no way Hannibal would be able to fit himself in Will without hurting him. No way at all. But then again, Hannibal is a sadist so Will doubt he really cares. Again, Will is tempted to beg but swallows the words down.

Hannibal notices the panic in Will’s wide eyes as he starts spreading and warming the lube on Will’s tight ring. “Sshh… It’s okay Will.” Hannibal soothes as he circles his puckered opening. “I won’t take you today. I don’t want to cause any irremediable damage. I would say I don’t want to hurt you but… we both would know that’s a lie.” Hannibal says with a wide devious smile.

The soft pressure rubbing his asshole along with the firm stroking of his cock and labored breath has Will feeling dizzy. It doesn’t however keep Will from tensing at the first feeling of intrusion. The single digit doesn’t actually cause pain, just feels… odd. But when Hannibal starts to work a second finger in Will begins to feel a faint burning as the invasion and the slow measured paced of inserting his fingers two knuckles deep has Will panting. Only when Hannibal has his finger deep in Will does he start to move again, pumping Will’s cock and the finger in time together.

Will tries to wiggle away from the invasion, clenching his jaw as he tries to fight off the command locking his body in place. But all thoughts of escape are soon replaces by pain as Hannibal jams three fingers in Will without warning. Will cries out as the painful stretch, gripping Hannibal’s cock a little too hard in the process. Hannibal doesn’t seem to notice though, only groans along with Will’s cries. Hannibal’s cock stiffens suddenly as he releases onto Will’s, cum lubricating him further in a possessive gesture.

“You’re mine Will.” Hannibal growls once he comes down from his climax. His pace on Will picking up, eyes racking over Will’s withering body. Because despite the command, Will feels himself tense and strain to get away, pain and pleasure mixing in a heady sensation that he doesn't want. Because God does Will not want to cum, the act itself the loss of the only control he has left of his body. So Will struggles, distracting him enough to hold off his orgasm. Hannibal remedies that though with a carefully placed curl of his fingers.

Will cries out at the feeling of those fingers curling into the sensitive ball of nerves, hips lifting forward off the bed. Hannibal continues stroking Will as he mercilessly hits his prostate. The heat burning at the base of his spine has sparks of pleasure coursing through him and all resolve of not begging is forgotten.

“Please, please Hannibal stop…” Will begs, panting as his eyes tear up on their own accord. “You got off so please… just stop.”

A moan cuts off Will’s pleas are Hannibal nails his prostate in a particularly hard thrust, head thrown back. Hannibal looks down at him a devious grin. “You’re mine now Will. Everything from your mind to your cock is for me alone.”

And with a gentle squeeze of the tip Will comes apart, a cry torn from his mouth as pleasure ripples through him. He closes his eyes as Hannibal makes him ride his fingers, massaging his prostate in a torturous drawing out of his orgasm. The feeling both intense and incredible.

Will’s body goes limp when he finishes, breathe ragged and heavy. He flinches slightly as Hannibal withdrawals his fingers and gives a slight groan. Residual pulses of pleasure course through Will as he lays there, mind floating off into a dazed after glow. Bliss is interrupted though by the faint prick of a needle before consciousness slips away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Guess who's back... back again. this bitch back. tell a friend.'  
> Sorry for the really cheesy Eminem reference. I have no tact.  
> I'm also really sorry to all the patient followers of this fic out there. I am the biggest POS. I would like to promise no more of that shit but I know my short comings. 
> 
> That being said, enjoy!

Dreams and consciousness become fluid, images of blood and moonlight cut with the melody of a deep voice and rhythmic _tock-tock-tock_. Will feels like smoke, tethered to his body only by those sounds. The rhythmic beat an anchor... The voice the lone light in a dark, shifting world.

Slowly visions of lives fluttered across Will’s mind but one keeps floating back. A girl with dark hair, her blue eyes wide and glazed in death. Deep red gashes from elbow to wrist fileting the flesh, freeing her blood and life from her body…

***

Will eyes flutter open, the room slowly spinning into focus as he fights off the effects of whatever drug Hannibal had given him. He really needs to stop passing out in front of this psychopath, not that he had much choice the last time. Fainting at the dinner table was all him though, something he pushes from him memory. Its display a momentary weak constitute; he is stronger than that damn it.

With a groan, Will looks around him. He’s still in the cursed bed, fuck it all. But at least he’s decent again... and a lone, though that’s really just a small victory. Shifting up into a sitting position, all semblances of togetherness seeps from his chest as the motion sends of twinge of pain up his spine.

The room tilts for a moment as bile creeps up Will’s throat. His gut tightens a the remembrance of being stretch, touch, coxed into cumming. A shiver runs through him that he shakes off. Hannibal can go die in a fucking well, preferably at his doing.

Scooting to the edge of the bed as gingerly as he can, Will stands and heads for the door. Worst case scenario, its lock. Best case, it isn’t and he can get the fuck out of here. It’s a long shot, or at least he thinks so, until the handle turns easily and swings outward.

 _Cock bastard._ Will thinks. But hell, he is far from complaining. Just the thought of being trapped in that room, waiting for Hannibal to come back makes his skin crawl.

Rounding a corner cautiously, Will see two hallways stretching out before him. His stomach knots at the thought of Hannibal coming from a closed door or a dark corner. Taking a deep breath he picks a direction and works fast, not daring to open any door yet for fear of what on the other side. Knowing his luck he would pick the door Hannibal is behind like the world’s shittiest Monty Hall Problem. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to find what he was looking for.

Will only gets half way down the Victorian wing staircase though before he hears a door open and close with the accompanying sound of approaching steps.

 _Shit shit shit._ Will back treads a couple steps before turning tail and fast walking up the finale few. He turns a corner , heart in his throat and picks a door to duck into. Of course it’s a closet, but it’s better than going back into that fucking bedroom. Will would rather burn that bed with him in it, than go back there willingly to wait for Hannibal.

The soft creaks of footsteps on hard wood soon pass the closet he is in before disappearing down the hall. The click of a door closing is barely audible in the distance. The house freezes in eerie silence before a loud crack of wood on plaster is heard. The once soft, leisured steps are now fevered stomps.

The steps halt mere inches from the door shielding Will. His body tenses, breathe caught in his lungs. _There’s no way he knows I am in here._

“William, I know you can hear me…” Hannibal says, the soft padding of feet on wood continuing again. Will feels himself relax before tensing again. “Now list-”

Will quickly plugs his ears with his fingers, cutting of the command. Fuck it all. How the hell is he supposed to get out of here? He has to unplug his ears to know where Hannibal is so he can sneak down the stairs but if does he risks being influenced by Hannibal. Even worse would be just staying in the closet with his ears plugged like a scared child until Hannibal finds him. The best he can do is hope he’s quick enough on the draw to plug his ears if needed. Counting to thirty, Will slowly un-wedges one digit.

“-out here ri-” Is all Will here’s before plugging his ears again. Damn it all. Counting to thirty, he tries again.

“Fine Will, let’s play your game. After all, I did always loved hide and seek as a child. Just know when I find you Will, last night will seem like a treat compared to what I have in store for you.” Hannibal all but purrs in a dark voice. He hears Hannibal walk away; footsteps grow distant until Will hears nothing.

Trying to calm his rapid breath Will takes a deep breath. Hand slightly shaking, he cracks the door and peaks out.

The hallway is empty; which seems more like a trap than if there was an actual drop trap with a deep fried Oreos underneath it in the hall waiting for him. Will’s stomach clenches, his breathing short.

Fuck. If he goes out he’s exposed. But if he waits it’ll only be a matter of time before Hannibal makes it back over in this direction where he’ll be cornered. He can always wait for Hannibal to check the closet and attack. Though he's hardly a match in a fight against Hannibal who, despite how much it disgusts him to think about, is corded steel from what he remembers from the previous night. 

Panic swirls in his mind in a smoky cocktail of adrenaline and cortisol. Will flexes his hand, palms hot and wet with perspiration. He stuck, torn in two between staying still and taking action. And either way he’s at a disadvantage.

The choice is taken form him however when there is the sound of footsteps getting closer. Hannibal is in this wing of the house now, imprisoning him in a five by four drywall cell. Will crotches down; it’ll be easier to surprise Hannibal if he comes from a level he isn’t expecting. Low and quick is about the only option he has.

The footsteps stop in from of the closet, Will’s heat beats rapidly. The sound so loud in his ears he knows Hannibal must hear it as well. The door knob turns. A crack of light spreads across the floor as the hinges creak open. Will’s body tenses, breathe frozen in his chest.

The trousers of Hannibal is all Will sees before he is jumping forward, body barreling into the larger form. Hannibal falls, with Will barely keeping himself from following before his is dashing off down the hall. Paisley wallpaper and gold trim blurs in his eyes as he focuses ahead.

Will runs down the steps, chest tight with fear as he makes a break for the front door. He feels like a rabbit running from a fox, darting in any directions in hopes of it being a means of escape.

He rounds a corner and enters a lounge when he hears the sound of heavy foot fall behind him. Will tries to dart around a table when a battering ramp of force crashes into him. Glimpses of wood and carpet are all Will sees before slamming his forehead into the ground. Bright red bursts of pain flashes across his mind as he gasps out in pain.

Groaning, a foot nudges him onto his side. The great form of Hannibal looms over him as he tries to shake the stars from his eyes. Will shoves as the foot, back tracking to put space between himself and the monster in front of him. Hannibal looks down impassively, eyes hooded as he brings a heeled dress shoes down on Will’s hand.

Will clenches his jaw, breathing a deep breath from his nose as he closes his eyes against the grinding of bones and leather. He tugs of the digits to un-wedge them only to slump down, breathe coming in pants.

“You did well, Will.” Hannibal says releasing Will’s captured hand from his heel. “We are not but ten feet from the front door.”

Will looks up, eyes heated. “Fuck you.”

“ ** _Don’t curse at me again._** ” Hannibal says. Will grinds his teeth at the command, colorful language hanging like ripe fruit on his tongue, frozen in mid-air. “Now if it makes you feel any better, you wouldn’t have been able to leave even if you’d made it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was hardly a while ago, Will.” Hannibal says undoing his belt. Will’s eyes go wide, body tensing. “ ** _Stay._** ” Will stumps, adrenaline and the commanding taking any fight he has, chest left tight with anxiety. “Now as I was saying, I gave you the command to never leave this house just yesterday. Even if you did not remember it, I can assure you it would still prevent you from stepping foot outside. **_Give me your hands._** ”

Will’s arms straighten, vulnerable wrists offered up and together. Hannibal pulls his belt front their loops and wraps the expensive leather around them. The cool soft leather makes Will’s skin crawl. 

“You’ve made your choices, Will.” Hannibal says softly, releasing his bound hands. “We are not men if we do not accept the consequence of our actions." 

“Ffff” Will says, mouth thick around the word. He clenches his jaw. “Fudge you. You are full of it if you think this is just.”

“Nothing is fair or just. We live in a world ruled by a vengeful God, a God who created both swan and typhoid.” Hannibal grabs Will’s bound hands and pulls him forward into a sitting position. “There is a balance of beauty and pain, life and death, in this world but justice is not a reality God operates in.”

Will glares up at Hannibal. Even after chasing and tackling him to the ground Hannibal looks barely ruffled. His normally pristine hair is only slightly out of place, falling stylishly across his forehead, his dress shirt is barely wrinkled with the sleeves rolled to show his forearms. 

Irrationally, it fuels the warm simmer beneath Will’s skin even more. The fucker is always immaculate. Untouchable...

“And are you God, Hannibal?” Will asks with a sneer.

“God is dead, Will.” Hannibal says coolly, impassively, as he unbuttons his dress pants. “And we have killed him, you and I.”

The sound of Hannibal zipper rings loud in the air between them. Will shifts where he is perched on his knees, glancing away and back to the dark form looming above him.

Dread trickles down his spine like cold water as Hannibal reaches into his boxer briefs. “Are you the Madman then, Hannibal? Warning the town folk of the death of God?” Will says, delaying the inevitable he feels on the horizon. 

“We are the killers and the replacers of God. We are übermensch. ‘Beyond-men’. Hannibal says, lips turning up in a haughty smile.

“I doubt Nietzsche had superpowers in mind.” Will mutters.

“But it makes the words no less prophetic.” Hannibal says. “I am the God that bloomed from the ashes of the dead one.”

The tip of Hannibal’s tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip, eyes gazing half hooded down at him. He pulls down the front of his pants, half hard cock popping free. Will averts his eyes, breath coming out fast and tight from his chest.

“Now it’s time for your punishment, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this new chapter!  
> More filthy, filthy non-con ahead.  
> All aboard the fucked-up express choo-choo!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal likes them sassy and innocent. what can I say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ssh ssh ssh ssh* I know Will's eyes are blue. Just go with it.  
> Though, in my defense, they look green in some lighting.  
> But enough pedantic rambling about eye color.
> 
> Enjoy!

Will’s eyes flicker upwards, fire and brimstone flashing behind evergreen irises. “If you make me do this I will kill you.”

“I’m not going to make you do anything. I’m going to give you a choice.” Hannibal says, stroking his hardening cock. “Take your punishment with very little commands, or resist and relinquish all say in the matter.”

Will swallows past the dryness in his mouth, eyes glancing forward at the too large length in front of him. It’s easy to know what his punishment is going to be, he’s not blind or stupid, but that doesn’t mean he wants to choose either. Both are shit choices anyway. He either gives Hannibal a blow job willingly and at least gets to set the pace, or lets Hannibal use his face like a fucking flesh-light.

Images of Hannibal face-fucking him pops into Will’s head, his stomach rolling. He doesn’t want that but to willingly give Hannibal a blow job lights a firestorm in his chest. Because of course all it would cost to take the easier route is his dignity…

Hannibal caresses the side of Will’s face, fingers brushing up his cheek bones into his unruly hair. Gently, almost lovingly, if Will thought the fucker even had a heart, Hannibal tilts his face up. “Times up, Will. Make your choice.”

Will bites his lip, heart pounding as he tries to keep his voice even. “They are hardly real choices.”

“They are real choices, Will. They are choices created by decisions you made.” Hannibal’s fingers work through knotted curls. Tenderly… soothing, like a farmhand calming a cow before the slaughter. “It was your decision to hide from me, your decision to run from me. I don’t expect you to feel regret or shame for those decisions. You knew what you were doing, those decisions where your own and made under your control.”

Anger twists hot in Will’s gut. He laughs, sharp and bitter. “Oh, you think I’m the one in control?”

Hannibal’s eyes flash, a cold smile quirking his lips. “I think you are more in control now than you have ever been. Our lives are never more our own than when we make choices.”

“You’re fff-” Will grinds his teeth. _Fuck Fuck FUCK._ _There._ “You’re deluded.” Will says with a sneer.

“No… but I am getting impatient.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does my indecisiveness in the face of your ‘oh so generous’ choices irritate you?” Will says voice thick with venom. “Well you know where you can shove those choices Hannibal? Right up your lily-white, psychopathic-”

Hannibal moves in a flash, the hand that was once petting his head grips his jaw, short nails digging into his day old stubble. “I see you’ve made your choice then. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but your inability to take the easy route is very predictable.”

Will tries to shake the hand free, indentations forming in the skin of his jaw. “None of that now.” Hannibal says digging his fingers in more. “ ** _Stay still and do not move from your positions on the floor, Will. Now open your mouth and keep it open._** ”

Will’s jaw starts to go slack, tension draining from the muscle. He clenches his muscles to close it but the muscles are numb and unresponsive. He is caged in his own body, stiff and unmoving with the itch to run and hide vibrated through it. His stomach flips as his breathing picks up, coming out fast and heavy through his nose.

This is what he wants though, at least out of the two options. It’s easier for him to sit there and take it than have to try and get this homicidal bastard off. Will can just close his eyes and wait for it to be over. All the while hoping and praying Hannibal won’t cum in his mouth. Though, that’s probably just wishful thinking…

“ ** _No biting, Will._** ” Hannibal says as he rubs the tip of his cock over Will’s lips. Will shudders, body straining to pull away from the imposing appendage.

He expects Hannibal to plow his cock forward, driving rough and fast into his vulnerable mouth and throat. Instead Hannibal teases the tip at the opening of his mouth, velvet flesh and wet pre-cum paint his lips. He cracks open his eyes, peaking up at Hannibal.

Hannibal’s eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide with a glint of glee in those dark depths. “Do you have a question, Will?” Hannibal asks quirking an eyebrow up expectantly, as if he is actually able to ask something. Will glares up at him, eyes throwing daggers.

A devious smile spreads across Hannibal’s face as he finally dips his cock into Will’s mouth, gently rocking the head against his tongue. Will squeeze his eyes shut at the salty taste of cum and smell of musk that fills his nose as Hannibal presses closer. He rocks his hips a couple times before pulling back out, circling the wet tip around Will’s mouth again.

Will’s body is on edge, tense and shaking against his control. He wants to be indifferent, unshakeable in this moment. But really, it’s all he can do to keep from crumbling. He wishes Hannibal would just get on with it already. Take his fucking pleasure then leave him alone for five fucking seconds…

His eyes snap open, going wide as they look up at Hannibal. The madman notices the shift in Will and smiles a wide toothy grin, savoring the cold realization that spreads through the younger man. Because of course Hannibal won’t make this easy. Will has to be present and attentive to his own torture after all.

A heavy huff of breath blows out Will’s nose as his body shakes. A scream poises itself in his throat, heavy and deep. Stifling. He’s just so tired, so done… He is ready to crumble into sand, stomach sinking. He probably would fold in on himself if he wasn't held up like puppet on strings.

Will’s eyes sting as he closes them, shutting out the sight of Hannibal. He’s sick of seeing the fucker. Can’t look at him. Won’t do it as long as he has the choice.

“ **Open your eyes will and keep them open.** ”

Will squeezes them shut tighter at the command, fighting the need to obey with self-preservation. A grunt escapes between his spread lips at the effort. Futile, the muscles keeping his eyes open relax, leaving him staring up as his rapist.

The hand in his jaw releases him and strokes up his cheek, thumb brushing over eyelashes before pulling away. A small amount of moisture shows on the pad of Hannibal’s thumb, cruel evidence laid bare. Will wants to close his eyes to it, ignore the ache in his chest and hide. Hide from his weakness. From his pain. From the reality promising that even after this pain there will be more… It surrounds him, choking him on the inevitability of it.

A broken sob creeps from Will’s chest, vision blurring as he tries to fight off the grief swirling in him. He is stronger than this damn it. He can make it through this. He can…

Hannibal’s cock invades Will’s mouth, velvet steel pushing past teeth and tongue to prod at the back of his throat. A hand cups the back of Will’s head; needlessly hold him in place as Hannibal closes his eyes in pleasure.

A choked off groan escapes Will as his body twitches to get away, breath coming in heavy through his nose. An echoing groan comes from Hannibal as he tries to force more of his cock into the wet heat of Will’s mouth. It’s not even half way in and Will feels his jaw ache at the strain, his throat convulse against the intrusion.

“God Will, you’re so beautiful like this.” Hannibal says in a throaty voice, accent thick. “Have you ever done this before?” He looks down at Will expectantly, whose eyes blaze up at him past the tears. “Blink ones for yes, twice for no.”

Will tries to swallow around the invading cock, drooling gathering in the corner of his mouth. He cannot answer if he wants. (Though unfortunately not lie.) It wasn’t a command after all. But like most things with Hannibal, it doesn’t really seem like a choice. If he doesn’t answer it will annoy Hannibal and possibly make the situation worse. But if he does, well… it can’t get worse can it?

If anything it’s more likely it will get better. Will remembers the look Hannibal had given him the night before when he found out he’d never had anal sex. Hungry and possessive. Will shivers, mentally shaking the memory from his head.

As much it irritates him to admit, the previous night could have been worse. It could have been something bigger than Hannibal’s fingers. He’d said he didn’t want to cause any ‘irremediable damage’, as if he gave a shit, but that didn’t make sense.  Hannibal is going to kill him, so why would he care if he’s a little broken before then. Will is sure he held back, so maybe…

Will blinks twice.

Hannibal’s cock twitches in Will’s mouth as he pulls back to thrust in again, a low moan cutting through the tense silence. Hannibal’s eyes are hooded and glazed, fingers gripping into Will’s curls as he rocks gently in and out of his awaiting mouth.

He breathes ragged through his nose as Hannibal builds up a rhythm. He thrusts deep but doesn’t hold like before, something Will is thankful for even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Bitter and acidic; a flavor to be spit out on Hannibal’s pristine shoes.

He shouldn’t be thankful for the small mercies Hannibal doles out like scraps, even if it’s a relief to be able to breathe. It’s just control at its finest; control over his food, pleasure, pain and, eventually, death. And that is the only true mercy a monster like Hannibal is capable of doling out, a blissful end.

Tears stream down his face as Hannibal’s thrust become more erratic, cockhead pushing past tongue and tonsils on each plunge between his lips. His control thins, grunts and wet suction echoing graphically in the extravagant art deco lounge as Hannibal approaches release.

Will gags, throat convulsing against the intrusion. Whimpers resound low in his throat, eyes squeezing shut to clear his blurred vision. His face is a mess, spit and tears mixing in a degrading cocktail of self-hatred and hopelessness. It knots in Will’s chest, blanketing him in a fog of desperation he can’t escape. Destined to be trapped and smothered under it.

“So good, William. Take it all. I want you to swallow it.” Hannibal says, fucking into the raw, chapped opening, thick accent a low growl.

With a low moan, Hannibal cums in his awaiting mouth. Thrusts slowing to a steady rocking. Cockhead glides over Will’s tongue.

Will’s brows furrow as the thick, briny liquid fills his senses. He wants it out, to pull back and spit the disgusting fluid in Hannibal’s face.

Instead, he swallows it.

Hannibal pulls away, breath barely a pant. Other than a wrinkled shirt, he is completely poised as he tucks his cock away and zips up his dress pants. To say Will is his antithesis would be an understatement.

Head finally release form Hannibal’s grip, Will ducks it. Choking on sobs and much needed air. His arms cradle his sides, keeping what he can from spilling from his spilt seams.

He swallowed it… The fucker’s semen, he swallowed it and now he can’t get it out of him. Can’t wash it away. Can’t get the fucking taste from his mouth. Can’t, Can’t, Can’t…

Will groans, fingers digging into his side. A hand lands on his shoulder, the heavy weight stopping the back and forth rocking of his body.

“William.”

His mother called him William. Never Will or Willy or Billy… Just William. Called him ‘William, my beloved boy’ every day. Every day till she put a bullet in her head. Leaving him for the grave with nothing but her broken body left behind.

Broken and gone just like…

“Will look at me.”

Will whimpers as he slowly raises his head, face still wet from the liquid spilling from it. Cool, auburn eyes stare at him, analytical and detached as he hold out a hand. Even olive skin. Emasculate nails. Long fingers. Fingers that just last night were…

A choked sob bubbles up from his chest, breathing stuttered as he is forced to look into the eyes of his attacker.

“I want you to touch me and use your powers, Will. Do you understand? Nod if you do.” Hannibal says. Will eyes the offered hand before flicking back up to those auburn ones, brown depth so dark they reflect maroon. Dark flames he could burn in.

Let him at least burn well.

Will takes Hannibal’s hand and lets the walls holding him back come down. And with it comes an even tempo of colors marching out across the connecting skin. Soft shades of yellow and pink swirl across his skin, dancing and curling around him like a soft blanket. Contentment and pleasure tickle his skin before an even tide of white envelopes him.

He pulls his hand from Hannibal’s and takes a deep, level breath. Calm permeating through him like a heavy tranquilizer. His heart beats steady in his chest even as adrenaline and cortisol makes his limbs shake like leaves.

Will opens his eyes to see the same dark flames looking at him in fascination. Like one would look at an interesting experiment under a microscope. And whatever Hannibal sees seems to placate him because he straightens and steps away, smoothing down his lapels.

“Very good, Will. Now go upstairs and clean yourself up. There is a bathroom attached to the room you were in, use it and then wait there for me.”

Will sways as he stands, legs numb, knees knocking. He wipes his face on his shirt, sleeve coming away wet and covered in thick, viscous fluid. Bodily materials indistinguishable on the plaid cotton.

Wordlessly, he glides up the stairs. Legs piloting an empty, hollow body. Mind splintered like driftwood, sailing down stream.

Broken and gone…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! another chapter posted!   
> i hope you guys enjoyed.   
> feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> XOXO


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